


Like a Stone in the Sea

by silentdescant



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angels, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard's mind conjures monsters, a time-traveling version of himself, and a portal to another dimension. He still isn’t prepared for what he sees when he opens the door. There’s a man on Gerard’s bed, covered in blood, and surrounding him are… feathers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Stone in the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Bandom Reverse Big Bang, for [this art prompt](http://theopteryx.livejournal.com/46242.html) by theopteryx. The art was so amazing and inspiring from the first moment I saw it, so I hope I came close to doing it justice. Thank you to the mods for coordinating this challenge, and to theopteryx for always drawing awesome things, and to sulwen for holding my hand through writing this fic. ♥

They’re not even all the way through the door before Gerard reels Frank in and presses their lips together for the first time. Frank stumbles, surprised, and falls against him, looping one arm around Gerard’s neck and reaching back with the other, blindly feeling for the door handle. Gerard manages to kick it shut and give them some privacy, and he pushes Frank back against the solid wood, pinning him. Frank rubs his shoulders against the door, reveling in the closeness, the hard and fast caught feeling that he’s never felt anywhere else.

Gerard’s tongue slips into Frank’s open mouth, taking him over, devouring him, and Frank moans loudly. He’s wanted this for so fucking long, dreamt about how Gerard’s body, his hands and his mouth, would feel against his own. Frank could never have predicted how instinctual and deep his reaction would be to the flood of sensations. He spreads his legs, inviting Gerard’s thigh between them, rubs his cock against him and nearly loses control right there with sparks flying behind his eyes. Frank shoves Gerard away from him with a gasp and sucks in a breath of fresh air, cold enough to burn his lungs after sharing Gerard’s hot breath.

Frank’s hand on Gerard’s shoulder is the only thing keeping them apart; Gerard isn’t pushing, isn’t trying to get close again, but he’s leaning with all his weight, like Frank is fighting a magnetic pull between their bodies. Locks of bright red hair fall across Gerard’s forehead when he tilts his head down, and Frank follows his gaze as it tracks all the way down and back up Frank’s body. When their eyes meet again, Frank feels the same intense heat he’d felt when his cock was pressed against Gerard’s thigh, and it almost overwhelms Frank again. He takes another breath, swallows roughly, and shakes his hair away from his eyes. He feels sweaty already and his hair clings to his skin, sticks to the back of his neck. He breathes again, slowly, trying to keep himself contained. He had no idea it would be so difficult.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Gerard murmurs, reaching up to touch Frank’s wrist. Frank’s arm buckles and Gerard crashes forward, pinning him to the door again. They don’t kiss this time, but their mouths are close again, and Frank can taste Gerard on the air. Gerard tilts his head and Frank opens his mouth, expecting the wet slide of Gerard’s lips, but instead Gerard rubs his nose across Frank’s cheek, letting his lower lip drag across Frank’s skin. “Smell so good, so fucking addictive,” Gerard says.

Frank pushes at Gerard’s shoulder weakly and finds his voice, says, “Let’s go, come on, let’s go now.”

Gerard backs off, but catches Frank by the wrist and pulls him forward. Away from the door, Frank feels off balance again, even though he’s been perfectly steady all night. Being this close to Gerard, actually feeling the warmth of him, the firm _realness_ of his body, is fucking up all of Frank’s senses. He stumbles after Gerard into the bedroom and lets Gerard yank his t-shirt up over his head. His back feels so bare and cold but then Gerard pushes him down on the bed, and Frank squirms against the soft mattress and thick blanket, wishing he could sink into it and never leave.

Gerard strips off his leather jacket and rag of a shirt and kneels up on the bed between Frank’s legs, hovering over him so pale and wiry, just the way Frank’s always wanted to see him. Gerard’s hair is falling into his face again, and Frank reaches up to brush it aside, tuck it behind Gerard’s ear. He wants to see Gerard’s face. He needs to see all those expressions, hear all those noises for real, in person. He needs to _experience_ Gerard.

They kiss again, and Frank can feel Gerard’s hands working at his belt, pulling apart the sides of his pants, shoving them down his thighs. He wraps an arm around Gerard, digging his fingers into soft flesh and tracing the edge of one sharp shoulderblade. Frank loses himself in the taste and smell and heat of Gerard’s body, letting Gerard control the pace, push them further and further towards that one moment Frank’s been craving for so long. He closes his eyes and hooks his ankles around Gerard’s back, dragging him close and holding him there, and he knows Gerard is talking to him, teasing him, saying he’s getting Frank ready, opening him up, how hot he looks, but Frank can’t listen. He lets his body move on instinct, react rather than act, and retreats into the corner of his mind that keeps him in check. He needs to focus, now.

Frank closes his eyes when Gerard pushes into him. He’s overwhelmed by sensation, and he’s sure his body can’t take this for much longer. It’s as if he’s been riding along the edge of a knife, precariously balanced, and a mere breeze is enough to tip him over. This is significantly more than a breeze; it’s like a hurricane. Gerard pets his hair.

“You okay?” he asks breathlessly. Frank can feel the tension radiating from him, the effort of keeping himself still and calm.

Frank opens his eyes. Gerard’s staring down at him, his expression soft and his lips shiny and wet, and Frank can feel Gerard’s heartbeat. He can feel the quick thud of his pulse like a drum pounding through his body, and he’s never felt so connected to another being. He nods.

He grabs a handful of Gerard’s tangled hair and pulls him down for a kiss, something to distract him, because Frank knows he’s losing control. He can feel himself flickering in the back of his mind, and he just needs to hold on a moment longer, just until he comes, and he’s so close, so fucking close, and Gerard’s hand around his cock just speeds him along, and it’s hot and tight and wet, and like nothing he’s ever felt before, and he can’t even choke out a warning before he comes. He clenches his fist hard around Gerard’s hair, focusing intently on the strands cutting into his fingers, listening for Gerard’s moan and biting down on Gerard’s lip. He can taste blood, real blood. Gerard’s blood in his mouth, fuck. It all tethers him to this moment, gives him the strength to hold his shape, and then it passes. The urge, like water slipping through his fingers, passes, and he’s okay again, stable, _here_.

He can open his eyes again and watch Gerard’s face as he thrusts, watch his lips curve into half-formed words. He needs to experience Gerard like this. “Please, please, please,” he whispers, chants, over and over and over, until Gerard’s moans choke off and he gasps for breath and meets Frank’s eyes, and finally stills.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, then laughs. “Fuck, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Gerard kisses him sloppily, nips at Frank’s lips. Frank can still taste Gerard’s blood. “That was fuckin’ hot,” Gerard tells him.

“Yeah,” Frank agrees. “Perfect.”

Gerard chuckles again and pulls out, tilts sideways and collapses next to Frank. “I’m glad I met you,” he says, and Frank tries to keep the glowing happiness from showing on his face.

“I’m glad I met you, too,” he replies. “Fuck, I needed that. You were amazing.”

“Not so bad yourself,” Gerard says, leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of Frank’s mouth. Frank smiles wide and doesn’t even try to hide it. Then Gerard pushes himself up on one elbow and looks down at Frank with his eyebrows raised. “Do you… want to stay tonight?”

Frank studies the nervous set of Gerard’s mouth, the hopeful arch of his eyebrows, and can’t bring himself to let Gerard down. He nods and wiggles down the bed until his head is more comfortably resting on the pillow. Gerard breaks into a grin and grabs a few tissues from the nightstand to clean them up, then just tosses them over the side of the bed and pulls the comforter up over their naked bodies and settles down beside Frank again.

That chat for a little while about meaningless things like bands and clubs, and before long, Gerard drifts off to sleep and Frank falls silent. He’s not ready for the night to be over. He’s waited so long for it.

He focuses his energy on the feel of his skin against the sheet beneath him, how he can feel a wrinkle under his shoulderblade and the warmth at the small of his back. It’s almost distracting, how comfortable it is to lie in this position with nothing weighing down his chest, breathing freely and staring up at the ceiling, and Frank can’t afford to be distracted. With a heavy sigh, he sits up and perches on the end of the bed, moving slowly and carefully so he won’t wake Gerard.

Then Frank closes his eyes and lets the mask slip away, fading into his true form, invisible to Gerard’s eyes. The familiar weight of his wings at his back sets his body at ease, and the tingle of feathers brushing the floor and the edge of the bed help keep him balanced as he adjusts back to his old center of gravity. He feels so much more stable, grounded now that he’s receiving so much sensory information from the feathers, but as he reaches out and lets his hand rest on the outline of Gerard’s knee beneath the blanket, Frank already longs for the tangible feeling of Gerard’s warmth, his solid form beneath Frank’s fingers. It’s just so _different_.

Frank doesn’t allow himself much time to stay and watch Gerard sleep. He’s done that often enough, and he’s sure he will again soon; right now, he needs to put distance between them, regain his equilibrium before his emotions get the better of him. As much as he’d love to take human form again and slide back beneath that blanket, right into Gerard’s waiting arms, he knows once is enough. It has to be enough.

Frank slides off the bed and stands up, spreading his wings out to either side, wide enough to touch both of the walls of Gerard’s bedroom. This place is too small for him, anyway. He closes his eyes and disappears.

***

Gerard is working. He’s being productive. He _is_. Really. His desk is comfortably cluttered, his coffee is steaming hot, and he has all the different color pens he could possibly need. Remembering the pressure he’s under to keep his job just makes it worse, so he pushes it out of his mind and takes a deep breath. It doesn’t matter that the page is blank, because he’s thinking. Planning. _Working_.

So when he hears a loud crash from his bedroom—a noise he’s about eighty percent sure he didn’t just imagine—he springs up out of his chair and goes to take a look. It’s past time for a break, anyway.

His mind conjures monsters, a time-traveling version of himself, and a portal to another dimension. He still isn’t prepared for what he sees when he opens the door. There’s a man on Gerard’s bed, covered in blood, and surrounding him are… feathers. They’re thick and layered, reaching almost to the ceiling and cascading down to the floor on either side of the bed, and there are a few floating down through the air, almost like one of Gerard’s down pillows exploded.

Gerard doesn’t know how to respond. He’s sure his jaw is hanging open, but it feels like his mouth and nose are both shut tight, like he can’t draw in air to breathe. His hand clenches around the doorknob. He wonders if he should be trying to find a weapon—there’s someone _in his bedroom_ —or if he should be trying to find bandages. There’s blood _everywhere_ , even staining the otherwise-pristine white feathers, but all he can actually manage to do is stand in the doorway like an idiot.

Then something in his brain clicks and he recognizes the man. The tattoos swirling down his arms, the long hair falling over his forehead.

“Frank?!”

The feathers quiver, all at once, like a reaction, and that’s when Gerard realizes that the feathers are connected to Frank. Sprouting from his back, in fact. Right between his shoulderblades, and arching up, following a long, strong curve of what looks like bone and muscle and skin. The wings—because that’s what they are, _wings_ —try to fold in against Frank’s back, but the feathers are too ruffled, too bloody, and Frank cries out in pain. He’s staring up at Gerard, clutching the bed like he’s trying to balance with these giant wings attached to him, and shit, there really is blood everywhere, all over Gerard’s sheets and Frank’s tattoos and dripping sluggishly to the floor.

It spurs Gerard into action. He moves into the room, trying to project confidence and optimism rather than the jumble of negative emotions tumbling through his mind, and kneels on the floor at the foot of the bed, putting himself eye-level with Frank, who just looks horrified and scared. Gerard cups his cheek.

“Frank,” he says, as calmly as he can muster, “you’re going to be okay. I’m going to help you.”

***

Twenty minutes later, Frank is sitting upright on Gerard’s bed, cross-legged so the wings can stretch out and down to the floor. The blood, Gerard had discovered quickly, stemmed from the seam on Frank’s back where the two wings joined together and merged with his body. The skin is torn, with ragged edges rather than smooth cuts, and judging by the pained faces Frank gives him, the muscle underneath has been damaged as well.

The wings don’t seem to be broken—not that Gerard has any experience with bird anatomy—but many of the feathers have been ripped out or bent the wrong direction, and that is apparently quite painful.

Gerard has a stained, damp cloth in one hand, and he’s gently dabbing and wiping blood from the feathers, smoothing them all down carefully, paying special attention to the bare spots where bloody, pale skin is visible. The biggest wounds on Frank’s back have been bandaged to the best of Gerard’s ability, with lots of gauze and tape wrapped around Frank’s torso. Frank isn’t wearing anything but the sheet from Gerard’s bed, hastily draped around his waist and bundled into his lap.

The blood on the fabric is slowly fading from bright, shocking red to a more natural rust color, and the white feathers are almost cleaned off, which means that all too soon, Gerard will finish his task and questions will come tumbling out of his mouth. He’d rather avoid an awkward situation, but Frank seems to be steeling himself for the onslaught, and Gerard is too curious to let it all go.

The first question out of Gerard’s mouth is “Why didn’t you stay until morning?”

“What?”

“You said you would, you said you would stay,” Gerard explains. “Then I woke up and you were gone. I thought... Never mind.”

“You thought what?” Frank asks, his voice gentle and quiet.

Gerard shrugs and stares at the spot he’s cleaning on Frank’s wing. “That you were interested.”

“I was,” Frank tells him. “I am. But I shouldn’t be.”

“Why are you here now? It’s been months, Frank. I thought I’d never see you again.”

The wing shudders under Gerard’s hand and Gerard realizes, suddenly, how large and powerful Frank’s body is, more beast-like than human. He’s reminded of Harry Potter touching that Hippogriff and wonders if he should be keeping eye contact, showing respect, but Frank is still _Frank_. He’s still a person. A person Gerard slept with. A person with wings.

“You weren’t supposed to see me again. Or ever,” Frank says softly. “Time passes differently for me. A month to you seems like a few minutes to me, on the scale of my life and the life of the whole planet. The whole universe. It’s the blink of an eye. I’m sorry.”

Frank’s wings shift again, shaking out the feathers and then moving gracefully in towards Frank’s body. They’re so large and Frank is so small, there’s no way they’ll lay flat against him, but they do fold in on themselves neatly, still stretched up above his head but more contained. Frank shivers, his face contorted with pain, and Gerard can’t help but touch him, rest his hand on Frank’s arm. Frank breathes deep and settles.

“You don’t have to be sorry. It happened, and now we move forward.”

“Move forward,” Frank repeats.

Gerard kisses him. He feels Frank go tense all over, hears the soft rustle of feathers, and Frank doesn’t kiss him back. When Gerard finally pulls himself back to look at Frank’s face, all he sees there is shock. His heart pounds against his ribs and he can barely hear Frank’s next words through the throb of blood in his ears.

“Why did you do that?” Frank asks.

“I don’t know, I just... did it,” Gerard replies with an apologetic shrug. Maybe it’s weird, but Frank’s still the hot, tattooed guy Gerard picked up at a rock show. Even with the inexplicable wings.

A flash of childlike wonder crosses Frank’s face, then his expression settles into something more like firm determination. He stares at Gerard, his eyebrows knit with a tiny wrinkle between them, and says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t.”

“Okay!” Gerard says quickly. “I didn’t mean to pressure you or whatever. I just... It just happened. And now we move forward.”

“Right,” Frank replies slowly. “We move forward.”

There’s a moment of silent tension. This whole situation makes Gerard feel stretched, like he’s the rubber band holding everything together, pulled almost to the breaking point. He gives Frank an encouraging smile. “I think now’s the time when you tell me what the hell is going on, Frankie.”

***

It’s been three days, and Frank’s still visible, still solid, still in Gerard’s apartment. He doesn’t think there’s anything tying him here, but, beyond the fact that he’s not sure how to hide his fucking wings, he doesn’t want to stray too far from where he became corporeal. He’s been spending as much time in Gerard’s bedroom as he can, and Gerard’s even taken to sleeping on the couch to accommodate him.

Sometimes, though, Frank just can’t help himself. He goes to the big window in the main room of the apartment, leaning over Gerard’s cluttered desk to see out, and scans the cloudy skies, looking for the angels he knows are there, soaring over his head. Invisible. Even to him. He’s never felt more disconnected, more _alone_ , than these moments, but he needs to try. He needs to fix things. He just can’t accept that that part of himself, that part of his life, is really gone.

His body longs to be in the air, flying through those clouds, looking down on the world. The wounds at his back throb as he imagines beating his wings, flexing his muscles and breaking through Gerard’s window to freedom. He’s never felt such tangible pain before being thrust into this dimension. Every time he’s taken a human form, he’s relished the sensations. The touches and tastes and sounds that take on whole new meanings for his corporeal body. But he’s never had to deal with that exquisite pain for so long. It doesn’t go away.

He hears Gerard’s key in the lock and his wings spread wide, sending little fireworks of pain all through his spine and shoulders. His body is preparing to take flight, something he can’t even do now. He doesn’t move from his spot at the window, and Gerard walks in with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, holding two paper cups of coffee and grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh, hey, you’re not in bed!” he says cheerfully, then offers Frank one of the cups. Frank takes it but doesn’t sip, wary of Gerard’s sudden attitude adjustment. He doesn’t have to wait long for an explanation. Gerard continues excitedly, saying, “I got called in for this meeting today, they totally sprung it on me, but it’s not like I don’t know my shit, you know? So I told them how it’s been going, the projects I have in the works, and they kept asking to hear more. Like, what this character’s backstory is, what the conflict of the first series arc is, shit like that, and I just keep going and going, giving them all this info, and I’m totally clueless until the end, as I’m walking out and shaking this dude’s hand, and I’m like, ‘Why were they so interested, anyway?’ And he said they wanted to develop it. Give me a team and everything, artists and writers and _money_ , and I don’t know who told them about me, or why they finally took notice, but things are _happening_ now, and--Frank?”

Frank puts his coffee on Gerard’s desk, untouched, and folds his arms over his bare chest. He shrugs. “Of course they took notice, Gerard. You’re really talented.”

“You don’t seem happy for me,” Gerard says. “And I mean, that’s cool, you don’t have to be, but... I thought you would be. I mean, I thought since... Anyway, how are you feeling? You’re out of the bedroom, that must be good, right?”

“Better,” Frank tells him, which is half-true. He’s not in as much physical pain, but only because he’s been losing feathers. There aren’t many visible bare spots in his wings, but the layers of feathers are definitely thinning, especially down at the tips, where the feathers are most sensitive and tactile. He’s losing sensation. But he tells himself it will come back once the wounds heal. His body is just diverting attention to the most serious injury. Frank rolls his shoulders and adjusts his stance so the wingtips brush the floor. “It doesn’t hurt as much now.”

“That’s great! That’s cool. I’m glad.”

“What were you going to say before?” Frank asks. “I _am_ happy for you, Gerard. You have to know that.”

“Oh, it’s stupid,” Gerard hedges. He flashes Frank a smile. “I just figured you’re like my guardian angel or something, and you being here made it happen. I figured it was because of you. So, you know. Thanks. It’s really cool you’re here, and I don’t know...” Gerard reaches out and traces a fingertip over the solid upper curve of Frank’s wing, his voice going soft with distracted fascination. “I guess it was just the perfect time. I needed you and here you are.”

Frank slaps Gerard’s hand away. He can’t take a step back; Gerard’s desk is blocking him in, so he shoves Gerard’s shoulder and pushes past him, out into the open space of the living room, where his wings have the most room to spread and quiver and react without breaking things.

“That’s not how it works,” Frank snaps, and he turns around to see Gerard’s expression morph into one of shock, and there’s fear behind his eyes too, and Frank feels bad about putting it there, but Gerard just doesn’t _understand_. “I’m not your fucking guardian angel. People don’t _have_ guardian angels. There are angels, and there are humans. I’m just a person, Gerard, and I’m not here for you. Nobody cares about your stupid human problems, okay? The world doesn’t revolve around you and your infinitesimal speck of a life!”

“Frank, what are you--”

“No! It’s not all about you. I’m here because I fucked up, I made a mistake, and now I’m fucking banished. Exiled from my home, and my friends, and my _life_ , the one that isn’t tied to this stupid, dying world. You just don’t get it. You have no idea how the universe works, and I do, and now I can’t... I’m stuck here. I’m stuck here, instead of out there, where I should be. Because I fucked up.” Frank loses steam and sinks down to sit on the coffee table, knocking aside a plastic cup with his wing, which clatters to the floor and rolls under the couch. There’s a soft tap when it finally hits something and comes to a halt, and then there’s just silence. Frank can’t bear to look up to Gerard’s face. He doesn’t want to see the betrayal, the hurt he knows will be there.

“Frankie, I--”

But Frank stands up abruptly and storms into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He throws himself down on Gerard’s bed, and the stupid sheets against his cheek just remind him of how it felt to not have wings, to experience that soft fabric against his back. He remembers feeling Gerard’s touch for the first time, that spark of sexual desire he’s never felt for a human before. He doesn’t regret exploring that feeling. He wants to, he wants to apologize and beg for forgiveness, beg for his life back, but... he can’t.

A long, fluffy feather floats down in front of Frank’s face and comes to rest beside him. It looks so harmless there against the pillow. Angry, frustrated tears spring up, painful like pinpricks behind his eyes, and he swipes his hand across the pillow, erasing the feather from his sight.

***

Frank miraculously reappearing in Gerard’s life is, Gerard’s sure, one of the best things that has ever happened to him. So it hurts to know how deeply Frank regrets coming home with him that night, when that night meant so much to Gerard. He looked for Frank, at that club and around town at other shows, asked around about him, and now that he knows how Frank was able to disappear so completely, Gerard is all the more thankful for his return. But something like this shouldn’t be so one-sided. Frank makes his life better, but he knows now--Frank _told him_ \--that he essentially makes Frank’s life worse. And that doesn’t sit right with Gerard.

He only lets himself wallow in self-pity for an hour. When the sun sets, he gets up off the couch and clears off his desk with a newfound determination. He doesn’t bother with his computer; he’s sure nothing he finds on the internet about angels will be accurate, and he has a real, live angel at his disposal anyway. Frank can tell him how this shit really works.

So he starts writing. First, a list of all the churches he knows in the area, then he adds the graveyards and supposedly haunted houses and tarot reader shops, everywhere he can think of that has a spiritual bent. He puts the yoga studio down the street on the list as well, because they do meditation there and it can’t hurt. He thinks they’ll have the best luck with the cathedral a few blocks away, but it might be difficult to smuggle Frank and his very conspicuous wings in there without being seen.

Gerard taps his pen against his lips, considering. The graveyard for that church is pretty dark and creepy at night, with lots of tall statues and tombs to hide behind if they need to. And if Frank _is_ seen, he could probably get away with spreading his wings and telling the intruder that he’s on a mission from God.

Next up is a list of supplies. Gerard’s done enough research about pagan rituals that he knows some of the basics: candles, incense, some dried plants and herbs. He’s pretty sure he has a canister of salt in his kitchen. He can go to the church tomorrow and pilfer a cup of holy water from the basin. He sketches out a few different diagrams to structure the ritual.

Gerard then turns to his laptop. He drafts a little speech, a little incantation for Frank to say into the night, asking God--or maybe the universe would be better; Gerard adds a note to ask Frank which he prefers--for forgiveness and mercy. Then he begins the much more tedious work of translating the few sentences into Latin.

He draws out a little map to the cathedral and transcribes his Latin speech onto the paper underneath, then takes it to the bedroom.

Through the door, he can hear Frank moving around on the bed, making muffled noises like he’s trying to move something heavy. Gerard raises his hand and knocks sharply.

“Frank? Can I come in?”

Frank doesn’t reply, but the noises don’t cease. Gerard thinks maybe Frank didn’t hear him, so he turns the knob and peeks in.

Frank is on the bed, face-down, with his toes and fists digging into the sheets. His wings stretch up to the ceiling, moving rhythmically down-out, up-in, down-out, up-in. A few stray feathers float around the room, buffeted by the air currents Frank is creating. Gerard stares, awestruck, until he notices the blood seeping through the bandages at the base of the wings.

“Frank!” he cries. “Frank, stop, you’re hurting yourself!”

Gerard rushes forward, ducking to avoid the powerful stroke of Frank’s left wing, and slides to his knees by the side of the bed, already reaching to touch Frank’s arm, his shoulder, his face. “Frankie, stop,” Gerard says in a hushed tone. “Stop moving. You’re bleeding, Frank.”

Frank’s eyes are red, bloodshot, but dry now, and there’s determination in the harsh set of his mouth. He lifts his wings high into the air and Gerard waits, tensed for the downstroke, the blast of air across his face, but it never comes. Frank folds his wings in on themselves, diminishing his form before Gerard’s eyes.

“It shouldn’t hurt,” Frank tells him sadly, and Gerard realizes then how badly it must hurt. There are bright red streaks of blood soaking through the white gauze, and Frank’s gaze seems hazy, unfocused. Gerard shifts his weight and pulls off some of the tape holding the bandage in place, and sure enough, the skin underneath is torn ragged and bloody. Frank cranes his neck to look.

“What were you doing?”

“I thought it would be okay. I thought I was ready,” Frank says. “I was trying to get back.”

“By flapping your wings?”

Frank doesn’t have an answer for that, though for all Gerard knows, flapping his wings is the best way for Frank to try and get back home. Gerard patches him up again and sits on the bed beside him and finally holds up his sheet of paper.

“I have a plan,” he says. “I’m sorry for how I acted before. I was totally... wrong. I was just wrong, and insensitive, and I didn’t realize how... hard this was for you. I should’ve. I mean, it’s not every day you hear about an angel coming to earth, but maybe that’s why, you know? I just didn’t have a frame of reference. But I’m not trying to excuse the things I said--”

“I get it, Gee,” Frank interrupts smoothly. “I’m sorry too. I was really hard on you, and it’s not your fault you don’t know how my world works. I didn’t tell you anything.”

“Well... I’ve thought of a way to try and get you back. Some stuff might be wrong, you’ll have to tell me, but I thought maybe we could try this tomorrow night, and I’ll help you get back home.” Gerard shows him the paper, the Latin words. “What do you think?”

He watches Frank break into a smile. “You did this for me?”

“I want to help you,” Gerard replies, nodding. “So, will it work?”

Frank reads over the words again, his gaze softening as he looks from the paper back up to Gerard. “Maybe it will. We can definitely try.”

Gerard swallows. “I’m sorry I ruined your life, Frankie.”

“You didn’t,” Frank says quickly. “My choice.”

“I just want to make it up to you,” Gerard adds, laying a hand on Frank’s warm, bare arm. He wants to touch Frank’s feathers again, stroke them, but he can’t treat Frank like a pet. Frank’s a person, and he’s already had his feelings hurt once already.

“Tomorrow night, you said?”

“If you think you can last one more day.”

Frank’s smile turns wry and he glances around the room. Gerard wants to kiss him. He doesn’t. “I think I can manage.”

***

It takes most of the afternoon to assemble supplies for Gerard’s ritual and figure out what Frank should wear on their trip to the cemetery. Considering Gerard likes his clothes skin-tight or close to it, none of his shirts or jackets will fit over Frank’s wings. Gerard finally digs out an old painting smock, something baggy and dirty, and cuts the back out of it, so only the collar, sleeves, and button-down front remain. It gives Frank a lot of freedom to move, but doesn’t hide him at all.

“Maybe people will think it’s just a costume?” Frank wonders aloud as Gerard searches through box after box of old winter clothes.

“Maybe we could wrap you in a blanket. Like a cape.”

“Yeah, because that won’t be conspicuous at all,” Frank replies with a sigh. It’s really no use. The outing is an exercise in futility, but despite that, Frank does want to go. It’s more than just humoring Gerard; some part of him actually believes--or _wants_ to believe--that Gerard’s plan could work. He wants so badly to trust Gerard, let Gerard fix everything, and Gerard’s confidence in himself seems to be bleeding over into Frank.

“I’ll just keep them as close to my body as I can until we get into the cemetery,” Frank offers when Gerard finally gives up his search.

“I thought for sure I had a trenchcoat.”

Frank shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. A trenchcoat wouldn’t hide these monsters.”

“They’re not monsters,” Gerard snaps. “They’re part of you, and they’re beautiful.”

Frank blushes. The wings aren’t beautiful--not to him, not anymore. Feathers have fallen out in clumps down at the tips, leaving the skin bare and ugly and cold, and he feels bruised all over. Hurt. Sore, like he’s been pummelled in a boxing ring. He’s swept the feathers away, and Gerard hasn’t seemed to notice the bald spots, but he already feels lighter, and soon he won’t be able to hide it.

“I wish I had more time with you,” Gerard says under his breath.

“Why?” Frank asks.

“When I met you, it felt like you were a magnet, pulling me in and not letting me go, and then you were gone. You disappeared. I looked for you, you know. For weeks. But I couldn’t find you, and now that you’re here, you’re leaving again, already, and... I just... I wish I had a chance.” Frank opens his mouth to respond, but Gerard barrels ahead, crossing his arms and not looking at Frank anymore. “I won’t say it’s not fair, because that’s not fair to you--this is what you need to do, and I know that, and I want what’s best for you, but it’s hard. And I just wish I’d had a chance.”

Frank almost reaches for Gerard, then. His entire body feels the ache of the space separating them, and he knows it’s his own fault, but it’s for the best. He can’t stay with Gerard. Even if he can’t get back home, he can’t stay here and depend on Gerard that way. It’s better for both of them if Frank keeps his distance. Yet he can’t stop his hand from drifting up towards Gerard’s shoulder.

Just before Frank’s hand makes contact, Gerard makes a show of checking his phone for the time and striding purposefully out of the bedroom. “Come on,” he calls over his shoulder. “Let’s get moving.”

It’s well past dark, close to midnight, when Gerard bundles Frank into the backseat of his beat-up muscle car and drives them to the back entrance of the cemetery.

Gerard sneaks in first with his bag of supplies and tells Frank to wait in the car. Frank watches him go, weaving in and out of the tall tombstones, then hunches down in the back of the car to hide. He hopes nobody comes strolling by the graveyard at midnight.

A few minutes later, Gerard comes back for him and leads him to a small clearing by a tree with a thick trunk and high branches. There are candles laid out in a circle, unlit, amidst a pattern of salt on the ground. Gerard directs Frank to stand in the center of the circle, then goes around the edge, lighting each of the candles with quick, practiced flicks of his lighter.

“Spread your wings,” Gerard murmurs.

The candles flicker in the slight breeze, and Frank’s glad of the scrap of shirt covering his chest and arms, and the thick, warm sweatpants that come all the way down to the tops of his bare feet. He spreads his wings slowly so they won’t blow out the candles, until they’re stretched to their full span, something he couldn’t quite achieve in Gerard’s tiny apartment.

Gerard stares at him, his face lit by the warm glow of the flames. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, quiet enough that Frank has to strain to hear him.

Frank isn’t sure how to respond to that. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, smelling fresh, damp air and the vanilla scented candles. Gerard begins to speak in Latin, his voice suddenly loud and confident. Frank knows Latin, knows all the little grammatical and pronunciation mistakes Gerard is making, but he lets the words flow over him, not really listening.

“Frank,” he hears after a moment. “Frank, it’s your turn now.”

Gerard hands Frank the piece of paper without stepping into the circle.

“What, I just say this?” Frank asks.

“Yeah. I’ll do the rest.”

It’s silly, and the Latin words are meaningless, but Frank suddenly feels like this could be it, this could actually save him. He takes a deep, calming breath and gives Gerard one last hopeful look.

“Don’t worry, I used to do this all the time when I was a kid.”

Frank knows. And it was just as silly and amusing to watch him back then, too. “Did it ever work?”

“Not really, but it might this time. Trust me.”

“I do,” Frank says, and he means it. He closes his eyes and begins reciting the words on the page. The wind seems to pick up around him, filtering through his feathers, ruffling them and making his wings tingle and ache, and Frank continues speaking, begging for forgiveness. He made a mistake. He’s learned from it. _Grant me mercy, please. Don’t leave me to this mortal fate_.

The wind continues to swirl around him, plucking feathers with painful little pinpricks and sending them into a floating spiral. Frank knows as soon as he finishes speaking that the wind is just wind, just cold night air caught up in the maze of tombstones. God isn’t listening to him. Frank feels stupid for ever having even the slightest hope that this would work. He knew better than to believe, and yet he believed anyway. The feathers drift down to the ground, littering the circle of candles with bright streaks of white.

“Frank!” Gerard cries in a hushed whisper. “I think it’s working! Do you feel anything?”

Frank doesn’t respond. Gerard takes the paper from Frank’s outstretched hand and starts reading the next section as he moves around the outside of the circle, blowing out the candles one by one and scuffing through the lines of white salt.

Frank watches him for a few minutes, until he’s about halfway around the circle, but then Frank can’t hold it in any longer.

“Stop,” he says. “Gerard, stop. You don’t have to do this.”

“We’re almost done, just let me--”

“This isn’t how it works, Gerard,” Frank interrupts loudly. “I knew it was wrong, but I slept with you anyway, and I thought that would be it, I thought I could leave it as just that once, a single mistake in my whole existence, and that would’ve been okay. I’m allowed that one mistake. But... I couldn’t resist. I had to see you again. I had to come back. And the moment I stepped into your bedroom, something... ripped me out of my world and into yours, and I knew there was no going back. I broke the rules. Deep down, I knew that was it. But Gerard... If it means never seeing you again... I don’t want to go back. I don’t even want to try. Because I want to sleep with you again, I want to kiss you again, I want to touch you, _be_ with you... I love you, Gerard. I broke the rules for a reason. For _you_.”

“But if you’re with me, you can never go back. You should be back in your world, with your family and friends and... and whatever’s over there, not here with me. Why would you want to be here with me?”

“I’ve watched you most of your life, Gee. I love you. I know I love you. And I know you don’t really know me, and I’m... not human, I know I’m a freak to you, but if you think you could... If you think there’s a chance that we could be together... Then, being with you, I think it’d be worth it.”

“You’re willing to give up your... eternal life? For just a chance with me?” Gerard asks slowly.

“I already gave it up, Gee. I just didn’t realize it until now. I gave it up when I realized I loved you and came back to see you again. I was sure then. I was just... too scared to admit it.”

“This ritual,” Gerard says. “It wouldn’t have worked anyway, would it?”

“Completely useless,” Frank replies with a laugh. “But I trusted you anyway.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Gerard stares at him in the dim light of the last few flickering candles, then finally takes a step into the circle.

“You love me?” he asks.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” Frank tells him quietly. “That night at the club... I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

Gerard reaches up and cups Frank’s cheek with one hand. Frank turns his head to press against him, try to absorb his warmth. “Will you stay with me?” Gerard asks.

Frank nods. “Yes, please.” He opens his arms and Gerard steps into them, closing the distance between them and meeting Frank’s lips in a slow, chaste kiss. Frank’s wings spread wide, catching the air, and Frank ignores the pain of it pulling at his feathers as he brings them in again, wraps them around his and Gerard’s bodies, sheltering them from the cold. When they’re closed into the protection of Frank’s wings, Gerard breaks their kiss and looks around in wonder. He lays his palm flat against Frank’s feathers.

“Can I take you home now?”

Frank nods again. “Yes, please.”

***

Gerard is the one to lie on his back on the bed this time. Frank crawls over him, balanced by the wings stretching out to either side, and kisses his way up Gerard’s bare belly, his chest, his throat, his chin. Finally, his lips. Gerard is soft and so warm against him, solid in a way Frank still isn’t used to, even after so many days of being in this form, in this world. Every touch is heightened, and Frank isn’t prepared for the onslaught of sensation. It’s different, somehow, from when he pretended to be human, pretended to be real. There was always the threat of flickering back into his own world. Now... Frank doesn’t have to worry, doesn’t have to split his focus. Doesn’t have to hold back.

Gerard wraps his arms around Frank’s neck, holding him close for a thorough kiss, but while their lips are locked together, Gerard’s hands wander down over Frank’s shoulders, up into the thick feathers at his back. Frank pulls away with a gasp.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Frank replies, surprised at the truthfulness of that statement. Beyond the general, familiar soreness of his muscles, it didn’t hurt. But it did feel... strangely erotic. He breaks into a soft smile. “I liked it.”

Gerard takes that as his cue to stroke his hands through the feathers, down as far as he can reach. Frank sits up and displays himself, lets Gerard keep touching him all the way to the tips of his wings.

“These spots,” Gerard says quietly, running his fingers gently over a patch of bare skin. “Will the feathers grow back?”

“No.”

Gerard glances up, his eyes bright in the darkness. “No? Not at all?”

Frank can’t put what he knows into words. Even now, the idea of it scares him so much that he can’t say it aloud. _I’m losing my wings_ , he thinks, and it must show on his face, because Gerard pushes himself up on his hands and gives him a careful, deep kiss.

“You’ll be okay,” he whispers, and Frank can’t help but believe him.

Gerard runs his hands down Frank’s wings again, gentle and slow, and when they fuck, Frank tries not to close his eyes. He wants to soak in all of Gerard’s reactions while Frank still has something special for Gerard to react to.

Gerard keeps up a steady stream of murmurs, disjointed words that catch Frank’s ear and fill his body with warmth. _Beautiful_ , Gerard says. _Amazing. Perfect_.

Gerard’s hands slide to Frank’s hips, steadying him as he rocks his body, his wings moving back and forth in a slow-motion counterpoint, casting long shadows across Gerard’s pale skin. Frank finally closes his eyes as he comes, lets his focus narrow to just the physical sensations as the emotion overwhelms him. Gerard’s hand around his cock, on his hip, the sheet wrinkled and caught beneath Frank’s knee, Gerard’s cock stretching him open, Gerard’s voice in his ear. Gerard comes a moment later, his cry muffled by Frank’s mouth as Frank falls against him, kissing him thoroughly, lazily as their bodies separate.

Frank settles on his stomach with Gerard curled against his side, Frank’s right wing covering them both and the left one extended off the bed and dragging on the floor. A pristine white feather floats down and lands on Gerard’s throat. Gerard picks it up and holds it between them, staring at it curiously.

“They’ll all disappear,” Frank tells him, his voice thick and caught in his throat. A tear slides down his cheek, but he can’t move to brush it away. “My body’s changing. I can feel it.”

Gerard leans in and kisses him, rubbing his arm soothingly. His knuckles brush the fluffier underside of Frank’s wing, tickling him, then he reaches for Frank’s cheek, tracing the tear tracks with his fingertips. “You’ll be okay,” he whispers. “Just don’t leave me. I’ll be here with you.”

Frank stares at Gerard’s face, his soft features and warm eyes. “I won’t disappear again,” he says. “I promise. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

And, for the first time, he means it.

 _fin_.


End file.
